


Shall We Dance?

by bookwormchocaholic



Series: Dance Series [1]
Category: Marilyn Hotchkiss' Ballroom Dancing & Charm School (2005), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anyelle, Dancing, F/M, Healing, abuse tw, frankelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 06:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormchocaholic/pseuds/bookwormchocaholic
Summary: Mariequitecontrarie: Belle needs to learn to dance before her wedding just a few weeks away. Her fiance, while an excellent dancer, doesn't have the patience to teach her. Enter Frank Keane--baker by day, part-time dance instructor by night. After a few of Frank's gentle lessons, Belle isn't so sure she wants to get married...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, mariequitecontrarie! I hope that you enjoy this and that you have a wonderful day! Love you! <3

Belle timidly entered the wide-open room of the dance studio, wiping her damp palms on her A-line skirt. The white washed walls smelled of fresh new paint and the hardwood floors gleamed beneath the bold chandeliers. Keane’s Bakery and Dance Studio. The sign had read out on the front of the building. Storybrooke had its share of unique businesses, including a combination Mexican and Chinese restaurant, but a combination Bakery and Dance Studio had to be a first. The bakery occupied the lower level while the dance studio occupied the upper. 

“What am I doing here?” She mumbled, feeling the familiar throb of tension mounting in her shoulders.

Her past experiences with dancing had been horrendous, to say in the least. As a little girl, her father tried show her a simple step. “Stand on my feet,” he had urged. She was five years old at the time and took that to mean that she was supposed to stomp on the bridges of his feet. And so ended his attempts to educate her. By junior high and high school, she was the ugly duckling, the odd bookworm with very few friends and no boyfriends. No one invited her to any of the school dances. On prom night she was holed up in her bed room, stuffing her face with chocolate ice cream and skimming through Jane Austen’s canon to sooth her. 

And now, at thirty-two, she was engaged. Her fiancé Greg, was a fantastic dancer and there had been dozens of failed attempts to teach her, all of which ended with him shouting and her in tears. 

_Six weeks._ She reminded herself. Six weeks to learn to dance, that way she wouldn’t be a disaster at the wedding. However, if her father and her fiancé couldn’t help, there was no reason for her to think that a baker/dance instructor could. 

Belle was on the verge of backing out of the studio when she detected movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning around, she exhaled a lungful of breath that she had been holding. 

“Hullo?” A man dressed in jeans and a polo offered a shy wave. He was short, only a few inches taller than her and his compact wiriness gave him an energetic look. “May I help you, miss?”

“I hope so.” Belle gulped and stepped forward. She had to be brave, otherwise she’d make a fool of herself at the wedding and ruin their Big Day. “Are you Mr. Keane?”

“Keane, yeah.” The man nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Mr. Keane was my father, though. I prefer Frank.” The more he spoke, the more his Irish brogue poured forth. A brogue that sent delicious shivers through her. “And you are?”

Belle shook the hand that he offered and was a little overwhelmed by his firm, but warm grip. “Belle French. I need to learn how to dance...in six weeks.” She extracted her hand, wondering why she enjoyed his touch so much.

“Six weeks!” Frank exclaimed, his jaw dropping. 

Blood rushed to her cheeks. In all likelihood, six weeks wasn’t sufficient enough time to master the art of dancing, but she had no other alternative. She and her father had drifted apart over the years and though he was coming to the wedding, he wouldn’t arrive until a few days beforehand. So he couldn’t give her a few pointers. And Greg had no time or patience with her ineptitude.

“That is when I’m getting married. I’d like to be able to dance at my wedding.” Belle clenched her fists, longing to grab hold of something, but nothing was in reach. Other than Frank’s hand. “My fiancé Greg is a wonderful dancer and I…suck.”

That she sucked was an understatement of the century. She was a menace on the dance floor, a danger to herself and to anyone within an arm’s length. An accident looking for a place to happen, she had broken a number of Greg’s toes, tripped herself, and per Greg when the _“music moved her, it moved her ugly.”_

And she didn’t want to be ugly, especially on her wedding day.

Frank’s soft gaze swept over her and Belle felt a fluttering in the low pit of her stomach, like butterflies. His eyes were like ambers, deep and warm. There was no condemnation there. “I’m sure you don’t suck.” He said, with a lighthearted chuckle. Cupping her elbow, he guided to the center of the room. “Here, let’s try something very simple. The waltz has three steps and we’ll start slow.”

Out of habit, Belle tensed up as Frank’s arm curled around her waist and drew her closer. There was nothing inappropriate about the way he cradled her, but he was mere inches away. Close enough for his spicy breath to tickle her chin. Close enough for him to look in her eyes and search out what was in her soul. Meeting his gaze, she was sharing an intimacy with him that she had never shared with Greg. It was unsettling. 

Frank counted off, “One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…” and with each movement and every turn, it was followed by a grunt or an “ouch” when she stepped on his toes. 

When he let out a sharp yelp, Belle disengaged herself from him and shrank back, clasping her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. See, I told you I was terrible!” She wailed and shook her head. It was no use, she would never get any better. There was no overcoming her two-left feet. “This is a mistake.” Tears blurred her vision and were soon spilling down her cheeks. 

“What?” Frank rummaged through his jean’s pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Giving it to her, he claimed her hand and led her towards an empty table in the corner. “No, here, come sit down.”

Belle slumped into one of the chairs and dabbed the cotton handkerchief – which was still heated from his thigh – at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t know why, but she was crying more and more these days. As her wedding approached, she would have these breakdowns where she would end up in the fetal position, usually by the bookshelf in her apartment, gasping for breath. Anxiety attacks cropped up off and on in her life, but these moments were more frequent than they used to be. 

Frank sat down beside her and placed his hand on her wrist. His fingers bore callouses – from working with dough, from ovens, from constant washing. Yet the pads of his hands were much gentler than Greg’s. She found herself wondering what it would feel like if he massaged her pulse point...or someplace else.

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.” Frank tilted his head to the side and sighed. “Dancing is meant to be fun. Therapeutic.”

Belle made a face. Dancing was anything but fun, let alone therapeutic. If she didn’t have to learn, she wouldn’t. She would avoid it altogether. 

But her relationship with Greg counted on it. Couples had to make sacrifices for one another. This was important to Greg, therefore it had to be important to her too. And they could not be the laughingstock at their wedding, otherwise Greg would never forgive her.

“I have to get this right. I don’t want to embarrass my fiancé.” Belle insisted and made an unattractively loud sniff. 

Frank looked confused, but waved her worry off. “Your fiancé loves you. How could he be embarrassed of you?” He gave her wrist a final, comforting pat. “Listen, we have six weeks; we’ll make a dancer of you yet. I promise.”

Belle nodded and despite her uneasiness and reservations, she found herself taking Frank Keane at his word. 

#

Frank rubbed his side, the spot still sore from where Belle had jabbed him in the gut with her boney elbow. He’d have a bruise there tomorrow, no doubt, as well as a broken toe or two. 

Belle wasn’t kidding when she said she was a bad dancer. Well, she was not so much bad as she was clumsy…and not so much clumsy as terrified. He was no expert, but something had set her on edge and that nervousness transferred to her dancing, and other parts of her life. Still, he never would have guessed that someone so small could cause such pain. 

He released the trembling woman and dragging his hand through his shaggy, sweat damp hair, he suggested, “Let’s, uh…let’s take a break.”

Belle was on the verge of tears again. Clasping her hands in front of her, she whimpered, “I’m sorry-”

“Really, its fine.” Frank assured her and hoped that she wouldn’t fret over it. Bruises healed, it was as simple as that. “At my first dance lesson, I was so overwhelmed that at the end of it, I was in tears. We all have to start somewhere. It can be frustrating.”

“I think I’m getting worse though.” Belle hugged herself, looking smaller than before. If that were even possible.

When Belle French had traipsed through the doors of the dance studio, he nearly fell over. She was so…beautiful. Auburn curls cascading down her shoulders, piercing blue eyes, pert nose, plump pink lips. She reminded him of one of those Old Hollywood actresses, like Audrey Hepburn. Not only did she possess outer beauty, she had inner beauty as well. Smart, sweet, kind, funny…

His heart literally skipped a beat when she said she needed to learn to dance. And then it broke a second later when she mentioned her upcoming nuptials. 

_I never stood a chance._ Frank thought, and went directly home after their first lesson, to lick his wounds. Of course someone as lovely and sweet as Belle had a fiancé. Made sense. Relationships were tricky and never worked out for him in the long run. 

Belle looked as though she wanted to flee…in fact she always had that look. Like she was frantically searching for the nearest exit. What she was trying to escape, he couldn’t say. Everyone had their demons. His arms ached to hold her, to offer her some comfort and assure her that all would be well, but he got the distinct impression that she did not like to be touched. She tended to flinch when he held her hand and placed his arm around her. Perhaps she didn’t want to get too close to him, when she had a fiancé at home waiting for her. 

Still, something seemed off.

Frank retrieved their water bottles from the table, handed Belle’s to her, and then unscrewed the lid on his. He took a swig and swallowed. “Well, in my opinion you are getting yourself worked up and that is what is causing you trouble. Is something bothering you?”

Belle averted her gaze and shook her head. “Just that my wedding is in six weeks and I need to be the perfect dancer.” She limped over to one of the chairs and flopped down on it. 

“But I’m not.”

Placing her bottle on the floor, she kicked her heels off and flexed her toes. She bent over, stroked her ankle and gave a little groan.

Frank frowned. He had tried to warn her that for beginners, dancing was hard on the feet. Better to start off in comfortable footwear, but Belle seemed determined to take the hard road. She insisted on wearing heels because that was what she would wear at her wedding. Whatever it was that was driving her to succeed, it was a cruel task master. One that needed to be expelled from her life. 

Frank set his water bottle back down, scooted a chair opposite of her, and took a seat. He patted his thigh. “Here, let me see.”

Belle’s brow furrowed. At first, he assumed that she didn’t want him to touch her there, but realized that she had no concept of what he was offering to do. 

“Your feet.” He gestured downwards. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” Her cheekbones reddened furiously.

“I know I don’t have to. But I want to.” It took some coaxing, but Frank lifted one of delicate her feet into his lap. He pressed his thumbs along her instep and kneaded the muscles, guided by her tender little moans. “Why don’t you tell me about your wedding?”

Frank waited to hear Belle start babbling about wedding plans, and caterers, her dress, fiancé – whatever. When he and Rita were planning their wedding, the world revolved around the Big Day. Nothing else mattered. He had never seen Rita happier than when she was a bride. However, Belle’s monotone responses to his inquiries left a bad taste in his mouth. Not at all the way a blushing bride should be. She might as well have been planning her own funeral. 

Belle’s lower lip quivered, as she watched him massage her feet. Why a simple foot rub would upset her so was beyond his imagination. But it seemed to affect her. “So you are a baker by day and dance instructor by night? There must be an interesting story behind all of that.” Her tone was strained, again from unshed tears.

Frank chuckled and nodded. Dance instructor was a bit of a stretch, but he was teaching others the love of dance. Reserved as he was, no one would have pegged him for a dancer. But dancing, feeling the blood rage through his veins, moving to the music – it unlocked something for him. He had been a student and then moved up to assisting Marianne Hotchkiss with her class back in California. Then when he had the opportunity to expand his business to the East Coast, he jumped at it and moved to Maine. Unable to give up dancing, he opened his own small dance studio for a couple nights a week. He had a few students, not a huge clientele, but it was something. A creative outlet of sorts.

“There’s a story, but it’s a long one.” Frank admitted shyly and motioned for her to switch feet. 

Belle slid the foot off of his lap and replaced it with the other. “I’m a librarian; I love long stories.” She teased, with the first genuine smile she had bestowed on him all evening. He had never seen anything prettier. 

“All right then.” Frank continued to caress her foot and though his tale had some sad parts in it, he didn’t mind sharing it with her. Anything to amuse her. Best of all, her limb was less ridged beneath his fingers, indicating that she was calming down and beginning to trust him. “Well, I was living in California and I was on a highway in my bread truck, delivering bread. A car passed me and then I encountered the same car again down the road. It had been in an accident.”

Belle sighed and the light slowly returned to her eyes as he told her his story.

#

“Belle, you’re doing beautifully.” Frank spun her around and then dipped her low. 

“Don’t let go!” Belle giggled letting her head fall back, her arms encircling him. Her fingertips scraping along, detecting the warmth of his muscles beneath his cotton shirt.  
Frank hung onto her, “I won’t. I promise.” 

She allowed herself to be swept back upwards and threw her arms around him for a proper hug. “I can’t believe it! We made it through an entire lesson and I haven’t hurt you once!” she shook her head as she parted form him. 

“You’re a natural.” He insisted. 

Gone was her irrational fear of dancing and of making a fool of herself. She didn’t know if whether she had any talent or not, but she felt good and she was having fun. Three weeks of lessons, every night, were working a miracle in her.

Despite all of her gaffs and the physical pain that she caused Frank, he never once lost his temper. Never yelled, or swore, or called her names. No matter how many times she made a mistake or cried, he was always kind and patient. Always ready to offer her a listening ear or a handkerchief. No longer did she tremble or cry when he was close by. Frank was so unlike Greg. Greg had left bruises on her from holding her too tight, bruises that took weeks to heal. His manner of dance was sharp, angry, severe even. She once heard that how someone danced that it was an example of how they would be in bed. She and Greg opted to wait until their wedding night before having sex, but she often wondered how her future husband would treat her. Would he be too rough, as he was on the dance floor, and leave further marks on her?

Frank wouldn’t. Sweet, gentle, tenderhearted Frank… She had been enamored with him since he shared his story of how he was introduced to dancing. He had gone to such great lengths to reunite two childhood sweethearts and in the end found peace for himself through a dance class. Frank’s baker hands, his nimble fingers worked such magic on her flesh whenever he touched her. After each lesson, he rubbed her feet to help her feel better, to relieve the tension. Greg would never do anything so humble, so thoughtful.  
Frank would be the perfect partner – on the dance floor, in bed, in life. 

Belle gave a slight shake of her head and hoped he didn’t notice. _Don’t go there, Belle._ She was engaged and the lessons was for her wedding, for crying out loud! The last thing she needed to be doing was picturing Frank Keane sprawled out naked in bed, waiting to make love to her, flashing her his crooked, boyish smile. It was so wrong.

 _Why couldn’t I have met Frank before Greg?_ Belle pondered, grabbing her towel and patting her sticky brow. _Stop it; you’re just having cold feet!_ This was common for brides. They lost sight of the one they were meant to be with and distracted themselves with flings. It was a stress reliever. She was just stressed out. 

“Dance is a very powerful drug, Belle. If embraced judiciously, it can exorcise demons, access deep seated emotions and color your life in joyous shades of brilliant magenta that you never knew existed.” Frank said, without batting an eyelash about it. “But, one must shoulder its challenges with intrepid countenance if one is ever to reap its rewards.”

Belle gaped at him, amazed by the onslaught of words that had tumbled from his lips. The quiet, Irish baker had more passion than he let on. He was unassuming, really. The folks of Storybrooke passed him by without giving him a second glance. His little speech stirred something within her; perhaps her own passion that had been lying dormant for years. Passion that had been buried beneath mounds of pain and sadness. Pain and sadness that could be exorcised.

His thin lips curved into a playful smile. A smile that she herself wanted to try on for size, to sample and savor. Our mouths would fit together perfectly. She measured the dimensions in her head. Again, she knew it was wrong to think of him like that, to desire him when she was engaged. 

“That was beautiful, Frank.” Belle pressed her hand to her chest and counted the erratic beats of her heart. “Magenta?”

“Magenta.” Frank repeated. “You’ll find your magenta too, I promise.”

Belle suppressed a giggle. Very few men knew what magenta was. Frank certainly was a rare breed. 

She heard the door creak and didn’t pay much attention to it, shrugging it off as another one of Frank’s students. 

“Belle, have you been dancing?” She jerked when she heard Greg’s strong baritone.

Belle felt the blood drain from her face. Neither she and Frank had done anything wrong, yet she felt as though she had committed an unpardonable sin. Since she and Greg had gotten engaged, she was never in the company with other men. 

Belle slowly faced her fiancé and hugged herself. “Greg, hi.” She responded, sheepishly. “Frank has been kind enough to teach me.” She didn’t dare look at Frank, not now. 

Greg crossed his arms and puffed out his broad chest. He was a handsome man; tall, black wavy hair, dusky complexion, muscular. And he knew it. He could have his pick of the ladies, but for whatever reason he had chosen her. Strange, awkward, bookish, clumsy Belle! 

“You must have the magical touch.” Greg drawled, his steely stare challenging Frank. “Nothing I tried to teach her stuck, then she nearly broke my foot during our last lesson.”

Belle dropped her gaze to the floor, wishing that this conversation would come to an end. She had never intended for Frank and Greg to meet. Frank was too sweet to be subjected to Greg’s abrasive personality. And Greg would only accuse her of cheating on him with Frank. It had happened before, which was now the reason she had no male friends. 

Frank stood at her side and didn’t waver, not for a second. “Belle is a wonderful dancer, a wonderful woman, in fact.” There was a hard edge to the Irishman’s tone, one that she didn’t know that he was capable of. “You don’t know how lucky you are.” 

Belle ventured a glance at Frank and found him sending her an encouraging look. 

“Yeah, well, are you about ready?” Greg grunted and checking his wrist watch, he tapped the face of it. “We have reservations.”

Belle nodded. “Let me get my things.”

After working all day and dancing for an hour, she was really in no mood to go out to dinner. Her feet ached, her muscles were taut and her body throbbed in places, and she was perspiring all over from the exertion. The only thing she wanted was a hot bath and a bed. But it would be useless to argue with Greg. 

She went to retrieve her purse and water bottle from the table and heard Frank’s light footsteps behind her. 

Frank snatched up his jacket that had been draped over the chair and handed it to her, his expression clouded with concern. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time?”

“Yes, I’ll be here.” Belle assured him, longing to hug him for his thoughtfulness. 

She slipped his jacket on and inhaled, enjoying the aroma of bread and a hint of cologne always seemed to cling to Frank’s skin too.

Even if Greg ranted and raved about it, she was not about to give up her dance lessons with Frank. Not only did she enjoy spending time with the Irishman, she had learned so much and slowly her confidence was returning. It had been ages since she felt good about herself. 

Belle trailed her fiancé out to the parking lot and tugged the jacket closed. The night air on her sweat-damp skin should have chilled her but Frank’s tan jacket protected her. It was like the Irishman was wrapping her in one of his hugs. _Perhaps I can forget my coat again tomorrow night, just to have an excuse to hang onto his._ She chewed on her lower lip in contemplation. 

“I don’t know if I like you dancing with him.” Greg announced, sauntering to the car. “The way he looks at you.” He stuck his hand into the pocket of his pants and withdrew a set of keys. 

“What?” Belle stopped and suddenly felt a small spark of anger festering within her. That he accused her of being less than faithful was nothing new. That he implied that Frank Keane was lecherous upset her. “Frank is a gentleman; he is giving me dance lessons so that I won’t ruin our wedding.” She shot back.

“C’mon, Belles.” Greg snorted and shook his head. He pressed the button on the little remote and she heard the doors unlock. “A few lessons will hardly make you an expert. It took me years to get where I am today. Knowing you, you’ll only end up looking like a fool.”

“Greg! I’m trying-” Belle protested and then let the sentence hang. There was no use in defending herself; once Greg’s mind was made up, it was made up. Her shoulders slumped and it was only then she realized how tired she was. Not from work or dancing, but from being in a relationship where she was constantly criticized. Being engaged to Greg was sapping of her strength. “I’ll never be good enough, will I? Not for you.” 

Tears stung her eyes. It had been days since she had cried. Dancing was healing her soul, just as Frank predicted that it would. Of course, spending time with a man who was kind, considerate and sweet made a difference too. She had found her magenta! 

Belle blotted her tears on the sleeve of Frank’s jacket. _I can’t do it! I can’t give up Frank or dancing!_

“Knock it off.” Greg huffed, rolling his eyes. “I won’t listen to a hysterical woman.”

Belle swung around and walked in the opposite direction. She had had enough.

Luckily for her, Storybrooke was small and her apartment was only five blocks away. Disregarding Greg’s shouts for her to return, Belle continued on her own. 

She needed time to think. Besides, a bath and bed never sounded better. 

#

Frank favored his right foot as he disengaged from Belle. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed a grumble. He wasn’t upset that she stomped on his toes again; only that Belle had resumed her skittish behavior. She had been freeing herself from fear. While she would never become a professional dancer, she could hold her own on the dance floor. And when she was happy, she moved gracefully, like a swan. 

Then her fiancé had shown up at the end of their last lesson and now she was back to trembling whenever Frank touched her. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but it was plainer than plain that Belle was in an abusive relationship. Maybe not physically abusive, not yet…but she and that Greg guy were heading down that road. The signs were all there, but Belle was completely oblivious to them.

Her two front teeth sank into her lower lip and her arms wrapped around her middle. 

“Belle, are you all right?” Frank steadied his voice, to not let on that he was angry. 

How anyone could be cruel to Belle – who had to be one of the sweetest women alive – was beyond him. He was easy going by nature, but he wanted to beat the hell out of Greg. Greg had a priceless treasure and he took it for granted. 

“Have you ever been in love before?” Belle shook her head, her pretty mouth twisting into a pout. “Sorry, I’m just not the best student today.”

Frank shrugged it off. She was more important than some dance lesson. “Dance is more than movement. You’re allowing your soul to be on display. And if your soul is troubled…” He hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was let on that he knew and then scare her off. “Yeah, I’ve been in love before. Twice, in fact.”

“Neither worked out?” Belle blinked her surprise. 

He gulped. His wife’s suicide was not something he liked delving into. Not until he really got to know someone. Sometimes he could barely get the words out. But right now, this wasn’t about him. This was about Belle and the focus needed to remain on her. 

“No. My wife... she died.” Frank left it at that and thought of Meredith Morrison, the woman he dated a couple of years after his wife died. It was easier to talk about her. They found each other when their lives were empty and brought each other healing. Even so, it wasn’t meant to last. “Before I came to Storybrooke to expand my business, I was in a relationship with someone. I invited her to move out here with me, but she no more wanted to come to the East Coast than I wanted to stay out west. I needed a fresh start. We parted on good terms though.” He cheered inwardly while he observed her slowly unwind. Her body language implied that she was relaxing. “How did you and Greg get involved?” He asked gently. 

Belle sighed and ducked her head, as though she had something to be ashamed about. “Storybrooke is a small town and we were the only two people under thirty-five not married or in a relationship.” Her tone was devoid of all emotion; she had no love for Greg. Those lovely blue eyes that glittered when she danced and talked of the books that she liked, looked fraught with sadness. “He asked me out a year ago. Six months later he proposed.”

Frank shook his head. _It’s now or never._ He had to say something or else Belle might make the worst decision of her life. “Why are you with him, Belle?” He held up his hand apologetically for broaching a subject that would cause her pain, but if it spared her of further suffering, then it was worth it. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t make any sense. You deserve to love and be loved. You should be cherished.” When she didn’t respond right away, he slightly probed by murmuring her name, “Belle?”

“I’m in my thirties.” Belle closed her eyes and a lone tear trickled down her cheek. “My friends all have someone to love; they’re marrying and having children. I want to be a mother; I want a baby.” Her voice cracked on the last word and her hands cupped her abdomen. “Every year that passes, its less likely that it will happen for me.”

Frank covered his mouth. Now that made sense. Belle was so passionate and loving; of course she wanted a husband and to have children. But shackling herself to Greg out of sheer loneliness, that was dangerous. Greg should not be her husband and he most definitely should not be a father. 

_Why couldn’t I have met Belle earlier?_ Frank wondered. There was a time in his life when he had wanted a family. He had his businesses, but a wife and children, that was the ultimate dream. Rita’s death killed that dream and he had been in turmoil for a long while, and now he was on the wrong side of forty-five. It was too late for him.  
But it was not too late for Belle. She deserved the best. 

Frank grasped her hands and cradled them inside of his. “Greg has abusive tendencies. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. You shouldn’t marry him. He would make a horrible husband and a terrible father.” He lifted her knuckles to his lips and kissed them reverently, savoring the feel of her. “You could have any man.” 

He waited for her to lash out at him, for overstepping his bounds. For prying into her private life.

Belle gaped at him, her eyes watering. “But could I have you, Frank?” she whispered. 

Rising up on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth against his. It was simple and sweet and better than he could have ever imagined. 

Frank made a strange sound at the back of his throat, a noise of disappointment when she pulled away from him. 

Belle touched her fingertips to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” She sprinted out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. 

_I screwed up!_ Frank exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut. He slammed the heel of his hand against his brow.

Belle had had feelings for him all along and he missed it. He had ruined everything and now she was going to return to her fiancé!  
#

Belle lingered outside her fiancé’s office, attempting to rally whatever courage she had left inside of her. Greg had only invited her to office parties and social functions; she was show off. A piece of arm-candy. She visited once at lunch time, as a surprise, and was lectured for showing up unwanted. He’d be more than annoyed for her to drop by now, especially considering what she was planning to tell him. 

_“Greg has abusive tendencies. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. You shouldn’t marry him. He would make a horrible husband and a terrible father…You could have any man.”_ Frank had said the night before. 

She had been so stunned by what Frank said and she wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t. _How could I have missed it?_ Belle asked herself over and over again. Greg was verbally and emotionally abusive; he had even left bruises on her from gripping her too tight. He was controlling and harsh and impatient. She had overlooked it all in her desperation to have a family. 

Then Frank claimed that she could have any man and kissed her hands. Touched, she asked if she could have him and she impetuously kissed him. And then bolted, like a frightened little rabbit. Whether she and Frank had a chance, she didn’t know. But she couldn’t continue on with this sham of an engagement. It had taken her two weeks to think things over and prepare herself, but now she was ready.

Belle rapped her knuckles on the door and entered when her fiancé beckoned her inside.

Greg’s head snapped up and he scowled when he realized it was her. “Belle? What are you doing here?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time for this. I have to-”

“Greg, stop.” Belle shut her eyes briefly and drew in a sharp breath. “You never let me speak, you know. You never listen to what I have to say.” 

When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t surprised to see Greg red faced and teeth gritted. He didn’t like to be interrupted, not in the courtroom, and never by her. But this was long overdue.

Belle balled her fists, her nails bit into the palms of her hands. “A wedding is something a bride plans, but you have made all of the decisions. You even chose what dress I would wear. I hate the princess style.” Somewhere along the way, she had lost herself, her voice, and she had lost her way…but no more. “I was so grateful not to be alone anymore that I went along with whatever you wanted.”

“What are you saying?” Greg asked. 

“We never once said that we loved each other or talked of feelings.” Belle blinked back her tears. In her short acquaintance with Frank, they had shared more than in her year long relationship with Greg. 

Greg made a fist and slammed in on the desk, hard enough to rattle the coffee cup inches away. “Damn it, Belle! I can’t believe you’re doing this. A week before the wedding, no less. Stupid, ungrateful bitch-” The venomous words spewed out of him like black bile. 

Belle cringed. He had never called her such things before, but there was no doubt in her mind that he would have when they were married. Who knows when the violence would begin? She really did deserve better. 

Belle twisted the ostentatious diamond off of her ring finger and placed it on the desk. “It’s over.” She declared coolly. 

“Belle, please!” The anger had drained away and for once Greg seemed desperate. His eyes were wide, bloodshot even. “Don’t do this. I know I have been impatient lately, and that hasn’t been fair to you. I’m really sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.” He gestured towards the paperwork before him. “Work gets me riled, you know. But c’mon, we love each other. We’re not breaking up.”

Belle wasn’t fooled by his sudden change of tactics. Greg was quick on his feet; as a lawyer, he had to be. It was all an act. He would never change, not for her. Even if he was willing to try, she had endured too much pain to fully forgive and to trust him.

“It’s over, Greg.” She repeated once more.

Greg spewed out a string of profanity, assuring Belle that she was making the right choice. “You’re making a mistake!” He shot to his feet and braced his hands against the desk. “You think it will be easy, starting over at your age? No one will ever want you.”

“Maybe not.” Belle shrugged. There were worse things in the world than being alone. She would find happiness somewhere or make her own. “But that does not mean I deserve a lifetime of emotional and verbal abuse. I deserve better.” She first pointed to her chest and then directed her finger at him, shaking it. “And you need some serious help. Good bye, Greg.”

Belle swept out of his office and down the hall, disregarding his shouts for her to return.

It had been ages since she felt so free.

#

Frank sank down to the floor, rested his back against the wall, and crossed his legs at the ankle. A chair would be more comfortable, but he felt low and figured sitting on the floor would better suit his mood. 

He had canceled this evening’s class and opted to give the studio a cleaning. Smelling fresh of Pledge and Swifter wet wipes, the room was bright and prepared for the next few weeks’ worth of classes. 

It had been two weeks since he had last seen Belle. Not that he was surprised. Telling his student that she was in an abusive relationship and needed get out, then kissing said student, was bound to make things awkward. He had stopped himself a dozen or more times from going over to the library to check on her. Belle already had one crazy man in her life; she didn’t need another stalking her. 

She may have expressed some desire for him, but she was still engaged. 

Frank let his head fall back and shut his eyes. He’d give anything to be with Belle, to make a life with her, to have children with her. _Can I have you, Frank?_ Those words played over and over again in his mind. _YES!_ Every fiber of his being cried out. It was too soon to call it love, but that’s what it was. 

His eyes opened and when his gaze focused, he gasped.

Belle was walking towards him, wearing a gauzy pink dress. The way she moved, was like a soft, pink cloud. It made her legs look long and shapely – he’d love nothing better than to have her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hair was drawn up in a messy bun, a few curls escaped from a clasp. 

Frank scrambled to his feet. “Belle? What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“It’s time for my lesson.” Belle stopped no more than a foot from him. Her coloring looked so much better and her eyes were sparkling. 

“What about the wedding?” Frank dropped his gaze to her lips. He was thirsting for her kiss. One kiss was all they had shared, but he yearned for much more. 

“You were right; Greg and I didn’t make sense.” Belle admitted, with a demure smile. “I called it off.”

“Thank God.” Frank mustered. 

In one short stride, he gathered her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers. Frank drew her lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it, savoring her flavor. She tasted heavenly, like the sweetest candy. He moaned as her fingers carded his hair and scraped the base of his neck. His own hands were splayed against the small of her back, pressing her closer to him.

Breathlessly, Belle drew back slightly and she whispered, “So, can I have you, Frank?”

“Yes.” Frank nodded, his heart soaring. “I’m all yours.”

Belle nuzzled her lips against to his, and he nearly lost control when she nibbled his bottom lip.

Frank parted, angled his head and placed a kiss on the patch of skin near her ear. “Shall we dance?” he whispered. 

“Absolutely.” Belle agreed, laying her head against his chest. 

Frank’s arms loosely encircled her waist and together he and Belle slow danced to a tune that she was humming. 

First partners in dance, from now on they would be partners in life.


End file.
